Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“I know you do not like me to speak of it,” he goes on.
“But I am horrified by what I did. I attempted to explain in that letter, which you did not receive, and then I could not bring myself to tell you what I wrote. Nor could I bring myself to repeat what I said when you were injured and forgot. I was disappointed that you forgot, and then I realized I was continuing to make mistakes.”
He catches my expression. “I’m babbling.”
“No, you’re just referencing things I know nothing about. The letter. Whatever you said that night.”
He fidgets for a second. Then he puts aside his bread plate and meets my eyes. “I was wrong to ask you to marry me. I said it was a solution to our problem, which it was, but it was also a solution to my problem. To the fact that I am terrified—utterly terrified—of telling you how I feel.”
My throat dries up.
He continues, “Do you remember what you said afterward? About comedic stories where two people marry for a convenient purpose and then realize they are perfect for one another?”
I nod.
“That is what I wanted,” he says. “I didn’t think it through, of course.
I was teasing at first, but then the idea took hold.
Marriage would solve our problem, and I would expect nothing of you, but once married, I would no longer be your employer and I could show you the kind of life…
” His voice drops, cheeks flushing. “The kind of life you might have with me.”
“As your wife.”
“As my wife, as my partner, as everything I have come to want and cannot have because if I admit that I want it, I put you in the most horrible position. You are my employee. You are beholden to me, and I can never take the chance that you might agree out of obligation. If I have this power over you, can you ever truly consent to anything where I am concerned?”
I stare at him, which is the entirely wrong reaction, but my brain is slogging, the wheels refusing to turn. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
Of course he is. He’s been saying it for a while, and if he’s been terrified of speaking up, I’ve been equally terrified of hearing what I want to hear.
“I am not asking for anything, Mallory,” he says. “I am only saying that I would like to remove any obligation toward me. And then, if things change, if you decide you feel anything else for me…”
“I—”
Speak! Damn it, speak! I pull back, and I see the disappointment flicker over his face, but before he can say anything, I blurt, “I didn’t want to marry you because it wouldn’t have been a marriage of convenience. Not for me.”
Now he pulls back. His head tilting, as if he’s wondering whether I’m saying what he thinks I am. For people who are usually good at communicating, we are absolute shit at this.
I swallow hard. “I came back for you, Duncan. After I accidentally returned to my time. I came back for the whole of my life here, but what tipped the balance?” I meet his eyes. “You.”
“Oh.”
I choke on a laugh. Then I’m snorting it, hands over my face, the laugh coming so hard I can barely get out the words. “God, we are so bad at this.”
Fingers touch my hands, slowly peeling them from my face, and he’s right there, his eyes looking into mine.
“We are, aren’t we?” he says. “Terrible at it.”
I nod, dumbly. He’s inches from me, so close I can feel his breath, and my heart hammers like it’s going to give out.
His fingers tilt my chin up and he meets my eyes, his face coming closer.
“Yes?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
His lips touch mine, and they’re so gentle that I think this is all I’m getting. A press of the lips, chaste and sweet, and then my brain spirals into panic as I realize I don’t know how to kiss in Victorian. It’s going to be different, right? He’s going to expect something, and I don’t know what—
His lips part mine, still gentle, and I realize this is Victorian. Slower. More careful. Taking our time.
I close my eyes and focus on that kiss, on the feel of his lips, the smell of his shaving soap, the taste of his mouth, champagne and strawberry jam.
I am right here, in this moment, kissing him and letting my mind whirl with the giddiness of that. I’m kissing Gray. He’s kissing me. This is happening. Really happening, and it’s not some accidental or drunken kiss that’ll have us backing away with mumbled apologies.
The thing I’ve wanted so badly, for so long, is right here, in this kiss, and it is everything I imagined.
When he finally pulls back, I make a little noise, almost a whimper of loss, and my cheeks heat. I reach for his hand, taking it, holding it, rubbing my fingers along it, my gaze down as I recalibrate.
“Touch,” I whisper. “I never realized how much I missed it until…” I swallow.
He reaches his other hand to my cheek. “Is this all right?”
I lean into his touch and close my eyes as they fill with tears.
“May I hug you?” he asks.
The tears spill out, and I open my eyes as he reaches for me.
We’re still sitting, and I tentatively move toward his arms. He beckons me closer until I’m on his lap, his arms around me, the tears streaming down my cheeks as I lean against him, face buried in his chest. I realize what I’m doing and pull back.
“I didn’t mean—” I begin.
“You’re fine.”
“If you’re uncomfortable…”
He brings my face to his. “Do you know how many times I have wanted to gather you in my arms and hold you? Kiss you, yes. But also this. I have found endless excuses for it. Touch your arm. Hold your hand. Lean against you. All the little familiarities that would be shocking to a Victorian, but that you did not seem to mind, and so I took full advantage.” He leans down, face over mine.
“If you are starved for touch, you are not the only one.”
He kisses me again, and when it ends, he gathers me against him.
“Now,” he says. “Tell me again how you came back for me.”
“Well, not entirely for you. That would be wrong. I can’t give up my old life for one person. Definitely not for a man. That—”
His head drops as he cuts me off with a dramatic sigh. “You are ruining it.”
“Sorry.” I shift and settle and then look at him. “I crossed time to be with you, Duncan. I grieved for everything I’d lost when I went back to my world, but most of all I grieved for you. I was heartsick with the loss of you. Better?”
“If it is true, and you are not simply teasing me.”
I press my lips to his. “It’s true.”
He rubs away my tears. “I did not know how I felt about you until you were gone. I suspected, of course, but I pushed it aside. I reminded myself that you were only a visitor, even if my stomach dropped every time you mentioned going home. But then you were gone and I was bereft. I sat by your bedside, and I told myself that if you came back, I would let you know how I felt.”
“Uh, that was eight months ago.”
“Yes, because once you were back, I realized I could not leap on you with declarations of love. I felt as if more was needed, and I named that feeling a dozen things. You had to settle in permanently first. I had to prove myself first. I had to be sure that if I declared myself, you would understand that our friendship was not based on the hope of more. That was all true, but as each marker passed, I still felt it was not time. Then, when I proposed and you reacted, I began to see the problem. The inequity of our relationship. As you call it, the power imbalance. As long as you were in my debt, I put you into an awkward position if I declared myself.”
“I didn’t feel that way. I mean, I knew that it would eventually be a problem to work through, but the fact you realized it was a problem?” I kiss him. “Thank you. And I was teasing about it taking eight months. I think we both took exactly the amount of time we needed.”
“We did, didn’t we?”
“See? We aren’t completely terrible at this.
Just a little awkward. It’s going to be …
complicated. We’ll work all that out later.
For now, I want to enjoy our picnic after addressing one tiny bit of that complication.
” I look at him. “Can we keep this between ourselves for now? For Isla. It feels…”
“As if we could steal her limelight?”
“I want her and Hugh to have all the limelight. Let him know the cohabitation issue has been resolved with your mother’s plans, and see what happens.”
“They will wed. That is what will happen.”
I grin. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
“Then, we will keep this quiet, so we do not usurp anything from them. For now…” He adjusts me in his lap. “We have champagne to drink, a wonderful view to enjoy, and breakfast, when we get to it.”
I lean back into him. “When we get to it.”